Kill Bill: Desmond
by J. Watson
Summary: The Bride goes after another member of Bill's team of assassins: Desmond. But Desmond has an unplesant agenda of his own. Will the Bride have another foe or find an ally?
1. Chapter 1: San Francisco Treat

Chapter 1: Desmond

* * *

_There is nothing like being surrounded by a mob, and getting the beating of your life. Take it from me, it isn't very pleasant. Two young guys visit the Gay Pride parade, and expect a night of fun. They turned in the wrong direction, and were greeted by some very unsavory characters. You might expect a white hat to swoop in at any moment—to save the day and all. But that's not how the story always goes. _

The mob consisted of four douche bags—that can only be described as caricatures of someone else. You got your "Vin Diesel," "Goldberg," "Rourke," and "Caan." What, no religious fundamentalists? It would have made the scene more interesting. Of course, everybody is having fun, except for the two teenagers that craved a night of decadence. Getting gay bashed was probably not on their agenda. The men were just getting started. First, they would be _gentlemen_ and start with their fists. Then, the baseball bats would be put to use. Somebody should have told the mob that outnumbering, and attacking unarmed people with blunt objects, isn't very gentlemanly after all.

"I'm not that crazy about gay pride either…" said Desmond.

_Cue the Western theme. The closest thing to a white hat has arrived. Desmond Stock A.K.A. "Little Indian." If those men were wise, they would just walk away. To a casual observer, he's just a forty-something year old man with a face only a mother could love. We girls used to joke about the deep lines on his face because Desmond never liked the sun. Don't let his slight stature fool you. _

"…But the beer isn't that bad, and I won't wake up tomorrow alone. So, don't fuck up my evening. Step away from the fudgepackers and nobody gets hurt," finished Desmond.

"Are you talking to us, queer?" asked the leader. He let go of the guy he was holding, and kicked him away. "Stan, give me my bat. I'm about to bust this fucker's ass."

The teenaged boys huddled against a wall. Their pride beads were cracked, pieces scattered on the ground.

"What the fuck are you going to do, faggot? Bring out the fucking pink triangle posse?" He motioned to the two guys against the wall. The entire mob laughed.

"Bitch, this _is_ my fucking pink triangle," said Desmond, showcasing his Beretta pistol, "And here is my rainbow flag." Desmond flashed a dagger with a silver-stripped handle.

The leader of the group backed off for a moment, then gave a hearty laugh.

"Okay, don't fuck me up with your S&M props. I already told you candyass…We're straight. We don't do that nasty shit."

The three guys surrounded Desmond.

With blinding speed, Desmond unsheathed his dagger, and began slicing methodically. He was precise, making sure to avoid any major arteries. Sure, the men were going to bleed a lot. But it wasn't like they were going to die.

He heard an assortment of screams and "fuck!" One of the guys ran away—like a little pussy.

Instinctively, Desmond fired his pistol at the leader. It caught his hand, as he was holding the baseball bat high to strike Desmond.

"It's really shitty to attack a guy from behind. Where's the honor in that?"

"Oh shit, please man!"

"Oh, so now I'm a _man_. What happened to faggot…candyass…queer?"

The guy was trying to stop the blood that gushed from his hand. Three of his fingers were twitching on the pavement.

Desmond continued walking towards the leader.

"You totally ruined my night, motherfucker. I was expecting to get major laid, but now I have to leave because of you fuckups."

"Sorry, man," said the guy, crouched on his knees and holding his hand in pain.

"_Sorry, man_…you know, it's not like my dick is going to suck itself."

"I could…"

"What?" asked Desmond, "Are you volunteering to blow me? I thought you were some badass gay basher. Did you forget something in the closet?"

"I…."

Desmond walked in back of the guy. "Okay, you want it…here it comes."

He unleashed a solid kick to the guy's ass. "Your cherry is officially popped. Now get the fuck out of here!"

The guy ran off, leaving his fingers behind.

The twinks stood up in unison. One of them, a cute blond, spoke up: "Thank you so much. If there's something we can do for you…?"

"Damn right there is something you can do for me…"

"Okay," said the other guy.

"You can give me your alcohol bracelets, and go home."

"What…we're 21…"

"Look kid, I just sliced up some guys because you dumbfucks walked into the wrong alley. Don't fucking lie to me. Bracelets, now."

"Hold on, you can't…" The blond guy put his hand up to his friend's mouth.

After they surrendered their bracelets, and walked off, Desmond decided to call it a night.

_Aw, so you might say that Desmond is not such a bad guy after all. A flawed hero wandering the streets with his gun and dagger. But I already told you…don't let Desmond's slight stature fool you. Remember how Bill found me in that church. It was more than just him "being the man." He had some help, and Sophie was out of town. Can you guess who stepped in? I'll give you a clue…the name begins with a "D." _


	2. Chapter 2: Bea and the Monarch

_My little scuffle with Elle was pointless. I learned too late that she already killed Budd. When I saw her at the door, I wanted to steamroll her so I could kick his ass for burying me alive. All right, so maybe it was worth it. I never cared for Elle. She always was—how can I put it—shortsighted. So, now I'm on Plan B, and Desmond is my "Great White Hope." _

_I'm here in lovely San Francisco. I've spent the entire night watching Desmond shake his pasty ass to disco music. It looks like fucking up those gay bashers put Desmond in the right mood, which is bad news to me because he's been around other men. Now, Desmond has acquired company, and they're heading to Desmond's hotel room at the Monarch. Now I have to wait on the fire escape until they're finished banging each other. _

_Finally, the moans and groans have ended. Hah, the guy didn't even stay for a shower. He just left. I guess the night's not over for him yet. But it will be for Desmond. While he's on the throne, I'm going to open this window. That's the great thing about these old-fashioned hotels. If the hotel goes ablaze, you have to get out somehow. _

_I hear the flush, and Desmond washing his hands. I'm planted right by the front door. I don't want Desmond to get any ideas and try escaping. My pistol's aimed right at his fat dome._

"Cut the shit, Beatrix. I know you're there."

_He's out and heading in his boxers towards the side table. I'm not lowering my pistol. I learned the hard way with Vernita. He may be pouring himself a whiskey, but the knife might be close by. _

Beatrix still kept her pistol aimed at Desmond.

"You're looking for Bill, right?" asked Desmond. "Come on, join me for a postcoital beverage."

"I'm not here for whiskey, Desmond. Tell me where Bill is."

"No shit. Out of everyone, do you think I'd deprive you of killing Bill?"

"You were sure friendly with him when the DiVAS gave me that wedding present."

"I wasn't the one that tracked you, if that's what you're insinuating. Of what I heard, Bill made an arrangement with Karen Kim's new boss. He concocted some bullshit story that you were a rogue assassin and that you violated his orders. For retribution, they worked with Bill to find you. They didn't deliver the killing blow because of employer honor or some such fucked up reason."

_So much for the 'congratulations.'_ _Sisterhood is officially dead, people. A woman selling out an expectant mother. A gang of women beating up the woman in question. Fuck you, Annie and Aretha. _

"How do you know all this if you weren't Bill's fuck buddy?"

"That's low, bitch. If I recall, _you _were Bill's fuck buddy. I was the fuck buddy for the other brother," said Desmond, as he threw back a shot of whiskey.

_So the rumors about Budd were true. They were joined at the hip after all. _

"Bill wanted Budd to be a pussy hound…"

_Budd could've driven the Pussy Wagon…_

"…So I got fucked up as a lesson…" said Desmond, as he pointed to his face. "It was a warning for us to keep us away from each other. Believe it or not Bea, I used to look like a Michelangelo."

"I always thought it was the war," said Beatrix.

"I guess you can say that," said Desmond, as he laughed to himself. "You know, it's funny. I had comrades that had their arms blown off in battle. One guy even lost his dick. I always escaped unscathed. I guess the piper came calling."

Beatrix took in Desmond's story.

"Bill hoped to never see me again. But when business is lucrative, you have to hire the best. O-Ren was being groomed for bigger and better things. I had the skills to help her achieve those bigger and better things. How'd you do her in anyhow?" asked Desmond.

"I scalped her with my Hattori Hanzo," said Beatrix.

"Hallelujah! I'm glad you took care of her ass. She was annoying as fuck," said Desmond.

Beatrix raised an eyebrow at Desmond.

"What? Did you expect loyalty because I trained her?" asked Desmond. "Where was her loyalty? Once I taught her all my slick moves, she went off to Japan and became the big boss. She tried to repay me by buying me a first-class ticket to a whorehouse. Ha, you don't pay a gay man with—"

"Enough of 'This is Your Life,' Desmond. Bill's whereabouts. Now."

"Esteban Vihaio…" responded Desmond.

"Who the fuck is—"

"Let me finish, cunt. Budd told me about Esteban Vihaio. He's a pimp in Mexico. A surrogate father to Bill and Budd growing up."

"I'm expected to believe that a pimp knows where Bill is?" asked Beatrix.

"Believe what you want. But know this…Budd didn't want to know where Bill lived. And Bill never divulged the information."

_Two brothers that supported each other through thick and thin—not talking to each other. It couldn't have been what was done to me. No…there was something else that came between them. _

"They weren't talking because of you…" thought Beatrix aloud.

Desmond stayed silent.

_The sword that Bill gave to Budd had "To the only man I ever loved" inscribed on it._ _It wasn't a gift to solidify their brotherhood. It was a parting gift…in memoriam._ _Elle wasn't there for a friendly visit. Bill didn't want Budd and Desmond to be together. He killed his brother out of stubbornness. Sound familiar, Bea? _

"So you see, Beatrix, you're not the only one with a taste for vengeance," said Desmond.

"Why aren't you pursuing him then?" asked Beatrix.

Desmond hesitated for a moment. He couldn't tell Beatrix about the possibility that her daughter was alive. Not when he couldn't verify it. "Some things are better left unresolved."

Desmond continued talking: "Budd mentioned Tocuaro on several occasions. It's a half-assed clue, but it's better than nothing. Budd and I weren't big about talking about our pasts. It was the future that we both cared about."

Beatrix took in the name and place. _Mexico…the country of dirty latrines and corrupt policemen. Best to skip Juarez. _

"You have what you came for. So, can you let a man mourn and drink in peace? You've had that fucking thing pointed at me the entire time."

"And you've had your knife at the ready," said Beatrix. It was true. Desmond had a knife belt hidden under his boxer shorts.

"Old habits die hard, Bea. Even when you want out of the business," replied Desmond.

_I went out the front door. There wasn't any point of climbing back out the fire escape. My conversation with Desmond gave me more than I expected: (1.) Bill doesn't believe in the "bros before hos" code, (2.) the world only has room for one scorned lover. I didn't kill Desmond, even though I could've. Even if he wasn't a part of my wedding blues, there are other things that his death would've paid forward. _

_But the same could be said about me. What right do I have being the scorned woman when I've done plenty of scorning to the world? Beatrix, what are you going to do with yourself when you finally kill Bill? Maybe Desmond and I will have a wake, and bang the prettiest boys we can find. Until then, let's see how far my Pussy Wagon will take me. _


	3. Chapter 3: Looking for a Mistress

Desmond Stock didn't know what he despised more about Budd's abandoned trailer:

(1.) The porno magazines of women that decorated Budd's floor, or

(2.) The stench of sweat, cheap aftershave and raw sewage.

While the former bothered Desmond's eyes, the latter was beginning to invade not only his nostrils but also his taste buds. _Aw, there's nothing like the smell of ass to leave a bitter taste in your throat. _

_That's the thing that people misunderstand about gay guys. They think we want to sniff every crotch and asshole that belongs to the same sex. I've never met a man whose ass I didn't want to kick first. _

Judging by the damage, it was crystal clear that Elle and Beatrix didn't like each other. _It's not like changing something will take away from Budd's memory._ How could Desmond do that? The entire trailer was damaged from ceiling to floor.

Once he finished searching through the kitchen and living room, Desmond starting looking at the rummage in Budd's room. It had to be there somewhere. It wasn't as if Elle was going to take it. She was after the Hattori Hanzo sword. Desmond focused his attention towards the mattress, and finally found what he was looking for: a dagger with a silver-stripped handle. It was a gift that Desmond had given Budd before the breakup.

Desmond ended up finding something else. When he dislodged the dagger, a picture of him and Budd fell out onto the floor. It was a photograph taken during the 1980's.

Budd looked slim and handsome. His head was cocked to the side, and he gave a squinted look at the camera—almost like he was looking at the sun. His hair was styled like James Dean's. His eyes were a piercing blue that could either melt your heart or dare you to a fistfight.

And then, there was Desmond…_I can't believe I ever looked that young_.

* * *

A long time ago in a poor neighborhood far away, Desmond was the prettiest boy around. His feline eyes were an emerald green that beckoned for attention. He was always short and stocky with sandy-brown curly hair. Had Desmond grown up in an affluent household, he would be the most prized trophy. But Desmond grew up in a Nevadan whorehouse. Trudy Stock was his mother, a pale blonde with eyes wilder than an untamed horse. They say that Desmond's father was a customer that slept with Trudy, and then went outside to blow his brains out soon after.

Sometimes, due to liquid courage, the johns tried to beat up Trudy. Others, even though they were high-powered businessmen, expected free services from her. They would try every single sweet word before turning violent. But Ms. Stock never let herself. She would jump on the men's backs naked, and beat them back with her stilettos. Although she was known as the craziest bitch in town, the men still flocked to her. She had the reputation that she could suck you just as good as she could fuck you up. It didn't hurt that Trudy had 38D breasts and a Barbie waist. She had blonde hair styled after Jean Harlow. So, whenever things got rough, the madam would just look the other way. She'd always get her money.

She wouldn't be in his life passed elementary school. Ms. Stock was kidnapped by one of her clients. They didn't discover her missing until the next morning. Her naked corpse was found days later by the highway. She had sixty-five stab wounds all over her face, neck, and torso. It was rumored that Ms. Stock fell prey to a serial killer. Even after all these years, Desmond still didn't know if that was true or not.

The whorehouse couldn't support a little boy. It's not like they could put him into the business. As he was shuffled from one foster home to another, Desmond learned something valuable: if you want to survive, you need to fight better than the other guy. He always had to protect himself either from the man of the house (especially if he liked boys despite having a wife) or the other foster kids. This wasn't always the case. After getting into countless fights, Desmond received his share of bloody noses, black eyes, scabs, and bruises. Once, before Bill's assault on him, Budd asked Desmond how he still remained a pretty boy despite all of his fights. Desmond shared his beauty secret: _If you want to stay pretty, make sure the other guy never hits you._

When one of his foster dads broke his arm, the court decided that Desmond was ideal for a boarding school for troubled boys. There, he was under the militaristic tutelage of Mr. Green—an imposing man that used to serve in the Navy. It was actually the best thing that ever happened to Desmond. Once his arm healed, Mr. Green taught him the various fighting styles that he learned in his military career: Krav Maga, Muay Thai, Sambo, and Combato. By the time he reached adolescence, and was pushed back into the foster care system, Desmond was well-versed in fighting.

But without his mentor, he was a lost soul again. Sometimes Desmond would just beat the shit out of a guy for the hell of it. He was the epitome of someone suffering from "little man's syndrome." He was kicked out of every school that he ever attended—even though he clearly had potential. He was adept at math and chemistry. But he lacked the proper guidance, and before Desmond could fully develop new skills, he would move onto the next shiny object. He turned to street fighting for the sheer spontaneity. A left hook was like poetry to him, and a swift kick a haiku. Not to mention, when he straddled a guy to punch his face, he was able to rub his boner against the other guy's (though Desmond didn't admit this to himself until years later).

He would often skip school, and spend his days at the movie theater—watching all the Bruce Lee and dubbed Kung Fu movies. He became obsessed with Asian martial arts, and swore that he would go to San Francisco someday to learn Jeet Kun Do. Desmond was given the opportunity sooner than he expected. When he turned eighteen, his foster parents kicked him out. So, Desmond hitchhiked from Carson City to San Francisco, and started anew.

* * *

By the 1980's, Desmond achieved his dream of learning Jeet Kun Do, but it still didn't satisfy him. He still had a bloodlust for a martial art that was perfect in its deadliness.

He was making a living as a courier—only he wasn't the type that rode on a polished bicycle. He worked for Solomon Massimo, a mobster that was trying to spread his influence passed Little Italy and the Financial District. Massimo wanted all the little towns that permeated San Francisco, and he wasn't above using force to get his way.

In the meantime, Desmond had his work. He was always tasked to deliver the most difficult messages. If the meeting went well, Desmond only had to use words. If the recipient wasn't pleased with what he heard, and wanted to make an example out of the messenger, Desmond would send the person to the emergency room with a broken limb or as a bloody pulp.

Desmond didn't win all the time of course. But he always studied why he lost, and then refined his skills. Bored with San Francisco and his job, it seemed like his prayers were answered when they were recruiting for soldiers. The Central American crisis was in full swing, and Desmond wanted to be a part of the action. So when he was rejected because of being flatfooted, Desmond had to find other ways to satisfy his bloodlust.

Plus, it didn't help that Desmond was fighting his own sexuality. Sure, he got to first and second base with girls. But he never wanted to go further. In San Francisco, like a moth to a flame, Desmond eventually found his way to the Castro District. During his off days, he went to a few bathhouses. But when it came time to perform, Desmond just couldn't do it. They were the few moments that his body refused to cooperate with him. When he was a teenager, Desmond always told himself that fighting was his true love. Now well into his twenties, Desmond wondered if that was his future.

That is…until that fateful night at a gay leather bar.

Desmond was sitting alone at the bar. Even though the pool tables were filled, it was still a slow night. He was sore from fighting a Russian guy earlier that evening. The guy's neck was like a tree trunk, and his face felt like concrete. Plus, Desmond couldn't rely on his Sambo moves as the guy weighed a ton. But regardless, Desmond made mincemeat out of him by using a handy metal beam. Yet, the experience drained Desmond, and made him feel twenty years older.

"Well, will you look at this shithole?"

Desmond turned away from his beer to see three guys standing at the entrance. Two of them looked like the kind of skinny rednecks that Desmond grew up with. The third guy was tall and muscular. Even in the dim lights, his eyes glowed like blue topaz under sunlight.

The leather daddies stood on the side and folded their arms, ready for the next move by the new guests. They were used to gay bashers, and they were none too pleased.

Desmond turned back to his beer. This time, he was going to call it a night. He would let somebody else take out the trash for once.

"Hey faggot!" yelled the blue-eyed fellow into Desmond's ear.

Desmond turned, and got a closer look at the fellow. He was a wannabe greaser, looking to start a fight with Desmond because he was the shortest guy in the room. Desmond took one last sip of his beer. In his head, he was already savoring how much he'd enjoy rearranging this guy's face.

The moment he put his beer down, Desmond elbowed the guy in the face. He jumped off of his stool and delivered a side-kick to the guy's chest. He collided with the pool table behind him. Desmond got into a Muay Thai stance, and waited for the guy to get up. He wanted to prolong the guy's suffering and humiliation. The guy raised his fists in a classic boxer stance. Desmond and the guy went back and forth, trading blow after blow. Desmond was surprised at the guy's fighting prowess, as he expected to have leveled him in a matter of minutes.

"What the fuck is going on here?" asked Ted, the owner. Ted was a beefy guy with a handle bar mustache. He looked more like Captain Lou Albano than Rock Hudson. He pushed Desmond and the guy away from each other. "You, stand over there. You, over there. What the fuck? I don't need the cops to be coming around because of this shit."

"That guy started shit," said one of the leather daddies.

"I don't give a fuck who started it. The both of you…out of here. And you two…"

Ted pointed at the other two offenders.

"You're not one of my regulars, so get the fuck out of here too."

They clapped their hands and started laughing. But they obeyed nonetheless. In the shuffle of people, Desmond decided to take the back exit.

"Hey, you!" said a voice behind him.

The guy had followed him. Desmond sighed and got into his Muay Thai stance.

"I can dance all night motherfucker, if it comes to that," said Desmond.

"I'm not coming at you for a rematch," said the guy. "I want to know…where'd you learn how to fight like that."

"Why the fuck do you want to know?" asked Desmond.

"Because…not a lot of people walk away from a fight with me, and I want to know," said the guy.

"Don't fucking flatter yourself. I've sent plenty to the ER," replied Desmond.

"Look, just answer the fucking question."

"Why…you want to go steady or something?" taunted Desmond.

"Fuck you. I'm asking because my brother's looking for some good fighters."

"Sorry, I don't give a flying fuck about your wannabe band of fighters. Why don't you ask one of your douchebag friends to do it," said Desmond.

"Man, fuck you."

"You wish."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Desmond got closer to the guy. "It means that when I flipped you over back there, you had a major hard on."

At first, the guy glared at Desmond. Then, a grin spread over his face. "So did you," responded the guy.

"You're mighty observant for a basher," said Desmond.

They kept their eyes locked. The guy grabbed the back of Desmond's head. Desmond instinctively reached for the guy's arm. Only, neither of them inflicted harm on the other. Both of them were drenched in sweat from the fight.

Off in the distance, voices could be heard.

"Budd…where the fuck are you man? Stop beating up that faggot. It's off to Broadway to get us some good pussy!"

"I'm gonna find a hot tamale and fuck her brains out!"

The guy looked down. Then, he let go of Desmond. He was going to say something, but stopped short. He started heading in the opposite direction.

"See you around, Budd," said Desmond.

"I don't know your name," responded Budd, as he turned. He kept walking backwards towards the sound of his friends.

Desmond didn't know what possessed him to say the following words: "Find me again."

Budd smiled and ran off to join his friends. _That's the last time I'll ever see that sorry motherfucker_, thought Desmond. Little did he know that it was just the beginning.


	4. Chapter 4: Cut Backs

After Beatrix's visit, Desmond decided to leave San Francisco. _She must've tailed me after I visited Budd's trailer. Maybe she thought that Bill was going to make an appearance, and saw me instead._ He didn't want to take any chance that somebody was tailing Beatrix, and implicated him as an accomplice. There were more pressing things that Desmond had planned, and such an association would screw those plans up.

Before Desmond shut his suitcase, he could see the picture of him and Budd sticking out from one of the pockets. He stared at their youthful faces. Despite having been in their share of fights, the both of them still lacked the cynicism that came with age. Did they really believe that the fighting would pay off? That they would reach their quota of violence and murder, and obtain a happy ending?

But even at their age, there was that false hope of having a happy ending. _They didn't deserve one._ Desmond knew that in his heart. But it wasn't because of the nature of their relationship. It was because the villains aren't supposed to ride off in the sunset.

When they found each other again, there was going to be a sunset all right...

* * *

San Francisco, California—1981

Desmond avoided his usual haunts. There was bound to be crowds, seeing as it was Valentine's Day on a Friday night.

After delivering messages with his fists all day, he didn't want to bother with anybody—

-No loud restaurants filled with desperate daters,

-No gay bars where everybody was playing "grab ass,"

-No bathhouses where he mainly watched other men have sex, and definitely

-No coworkers telling him they didn't make enough to buy pussy.

Desmond set his Chinese takeout on the counter. His left shoulder ached as he took off his jacket. It was excruciating when he threw it on the nearest chair. It had been bothering him off and on for about a month—since he fought that Russian guy. He'd definitely have to ice it tonight. At least Desmond didn't have to make the delivery tomorrow. That was reassigned to another guy that had a more inconspicuous ride.

His mouth salivated from the smell of Mongolian beef and chow mein. He was finally going to watch the movie he rented "Nighthawks." This was going to be his best Valentine's Day ever.

Perhaps it was because Desmond was running on autopilot all day. For when Desmond opened the kitchen drawer for a fork, he was struck on the back of his head. The force was not enough to knock him out, though it did take him off balance. Desmond had to act fast. The attacker swung his knife down and cut through Desmond's sleeve. Desmond grabbed the attacker's arm, and flipped him over. As the guy was rebounding, Desmond reached for a butcher knife. He turned the knife upside down, and readied his body for a confrontation.

The attacker did a rising handspring, and kicked behind him. Desmond backed away before the kick could connect. The guy turned, and Desmond and he were finally face-to-face.

"Budd?" asked Desmond.

Budd's cornflower eyes were fixated on Desmond.

"You're Desmond?" said a confused Budd. "It can't be."

"What the fuck are you doing in my apartment?" asked Desmond. He tensed his body and kept his knife steady.

Budd smiled mischievously. "I wanted a rematch."

Desmond sighed. _There goes my evening…it always turns into shit._

"You don't want to do this?" asked Budd.

Desmond kept his knife steady.

"You're in my kitchen with a knife. Obviously, you broke into my place to kill me. So, yes, I guess we have to do this."

"Well…you know…we don't have to do this," said Budd.

"What the fuck do you mean 'we don't have to do this'?" asked an incredulous Desmond. "You've been hired to kill me. And I need to send you back into little pieces so another hit isn't made on me."

"What makes you think you'll win?" asked Budd. "I'm real handy with a knife."

Desmond grabbed a frying pan, and knocked the knife out of Budd's hand. Then, he kicked him in the chest. Budd flew back and crash landed on the table behind him.

"Because you like to talk…that's why," said Desmond.

He threw the knife against the wall. Then, he reached into his drawer and pulled out his gun.

Budd drew his gun as well.

"Really?" asked Desmond. "So, it goes from a knife fight to a gun battle?"

Budd shot at the refrigerator. Desmond ducked out of the way in time.

"Who likes to talk again?" said Budd, as he stood up.

Desmond was hiding behind his couch.

"Come on, let's make this easy, all right? You show yourself, and I promise not to shoot you."

Desmond eyed Budd's reflection on his glass cabinet. He dived to the ground, and took a shot at Budd.

Budd jumped away from the ricochet. "Jesus, stop shooting at me!"

Desmond jumped up, kicked the gun out of Budd's hand, and aimed his gun at Budd's head.

"Who sent you?" asked Desmond.

Budd raised his hands up in surrender and laughed. "Trust me, you don't want to know."

"I'm not fucking around with you, Budd. Tell me…who was idiotic enough to send you?"

"Solomon Massimo."

Before Desmond could register that his own boss sent a hit man, Budd tackled Desmond. They collided against the wall. Budd wrestled the gun away from Desmond, and punched him in the windpipe. Desmond choked for air, grabbing the curtains to steady himself. Budd opened the gun's chamber, and dumped out the bullets.

"Don't even think about going for the other gun. When I pulled the trigger, it was empty. You would've gotten a free shot to my head," said Budd. "I'll give you some space to breathe."

As Desmond regained his breathe, he noticed Budd eyeing the place. Desmond looked at the knife embedded in the wall. He thought about going for it.

"I got to tell you…it's a small world…you jinxed everything…telling me to 'find you,'" said Budd.

Desmond staggered towards Budd. He might distract him enough to grab the knife.

"I don't have any choice left now. You're going to have to take one for the team," said Budd. With that, he grabbed a frying pan, and struck Desmond's temple. Blackness filled Desmond's eyes.

Budd squatted over an unconscious Desmond. "Happy Valentine's Day, handsome."

* * *

Desmond could hear two male voices talking. His eyes shot open, as he sat up. He could see Budd standing at the edge of the bed.

"Hello, Desmond. I'm Bill. You've met my brother already, Budd."

Desmond didn't say a word. He wasn't sure how to react to this new setting.

"A taciturn type. Okay, I'll do the talking. Budd told me that you're an exceptional fighter. But you're a novice with weaponry, as evidenced by that little attempt at your life."

"That attempt, by the way, has been aborted. My clever brother substituted another body as evidence for your death."

Budd tossed some Polaroid pictures to Desmond. Desmond looked at the pictures, and they showed a cadaver beaten to a pulp. There was also a bullet hole in the middle of his forehead.

"Solomon Massimo was pleased. And now, in exchange for saving your life, you will work for me now."

Desmond finally spoke. "Well, if I working for you now, I assume you had the sense to take me out of San Francisco."

Bill laughed at Desmond's question. "Well, it's a good thing you finally woke up, Sleeping Beauty. You've had quite the journey."

"What do you mean?" asked Desmond.

"Show him, Budd," said Bill.

Budd pulled up the window blinds. At first, Desmond was blinded by the sunlight. But when his eyes adjusted, he could only see Chinese characters alongside the buildings. _No, it can't be. _

"No, you're not seeing Chinatown. This is the real deal, Desmond. You're in China," said Bill.

"Why?" asked Desmond.

"That will be revealed to you very soon," said Bill.


	5. Chapter 5: On Leave

San Francisco's city lights disappeared hours ago in Desmond's rear-view mirror. With the exception of a few breaks here and there, he kept driving until he finally arrived in Seattle, Washington.

When he reached the city limits, he was disheartened to see all of the teenage runaways on the streets. He knew that they were all easy pickings. There were so many nasty motherfuckers that wanted to exploit them in every way possible. Desmond always did what he could to never feel powerless. _Masculinity is a real fucked up thing_. There's always a power struggle to be the top dog.

Desmond usually found a way to always be on top. But even the predator can be hunted sometimes. As Desmond collapsed on his motel mattress, the memories of his captivity danced in his mind. They carried over into his dreams.

* * *

United Kingdom, 1987—

Budd and Desmond lay naked by the fireplace. They were sweaty and spent from their lovemaking. At the time, Desmond was glad that a job took them out of China to Britain. Sure, the weather was always shitty and foggy. But Desmond didn't mind. At least the people spoke the right English, and not some Pygmy bullshit.

Desmond took a drag from his cigarette as Cutting Crew's "I've Been in Love Before" played in the background.

Budd leaned on his left elbow, and asked "How'd you stay so pretty after all those fights, Des?"

Desmond pretended that he was too cool to be flattered. In truth, he was. Nobody had ever made him feel so wanted or desired.

But he couldn't let Budd know that. "I made sure the other guy never hit me."

Budd's laugh was childlike and innocent. Desmond would remember it because, for a moment, he knew that Budd let his guard down.

It was perfect. Two horny guys in their twenties, caught up in lust and love. At least, Desmond knew it was love for him.

When Bill and the Deadly Viper Assassination Squad's operation moved to the U.K., the fog stopped being romantic and mysterious. Bill couldn't wait to showcase his latest protegee—O-Ren Ishii. It started to look as dismal as Nevada for Desmond.

* * *

Montana, 1998—

Beatrix was like no other woman that Desmond had ever encountered before.

It was at the start of their relationship. Beatrix and Bill were making goo-goo eyes at each other. She couldn't see how truly fucked up Bill was. Love does that to you. When Beatrix and Desmond were alone, he wanted to give her some advice.

When he tried to say the words, he kept thinking of a quote: "Love is the sweetest of dreams and the worst of nightmares."

_But I had second thoughts. Besides, if I would've said that quote, I would've looked like an ivory-tower ass trying to be smart. Why try to explain something to somebody that you barely know? Besides, Beatrix was just as much of a prisoner as I was. I could say all I want that I was working alone by then. The truth was that even if my love for Budd was changing, there was no way that he would ever let me go. The brothers do that. Some kind of messed up thing from childhood._

Desmond also couldn't risk trusting her. Years earlier, one of Bill's bitches told him that Budd and Desmond were fucking each other. It was probably Elle. Maybe she was wishing for a threesome with two brothers, and got pissed that one liked dick more.

But Bill didn't seem to get mad, even though Desmond knew about Bill's homophobia. He was still civil to Desmond, perhaps because he needed Desmond's skills to get the job done. Why wouldn't Desmond give his all? He'd try his best to keep his lover, after all.

Budd was pissed off that the secret was revealed. It got to the point that his silence was bugging the hell out of Desmond. When Desmond tried to talk to him about it, Budd went into an explosive rage. He socked Desmond in the face. The hit split Desmond's upper lip, and chipped his front tooth.

For a split second, Desmond was in denial that it happened. But then, the testosterone kicked in and Budd and he had a nice little lover's quarrel.

It ended with Budd telling him to fuck off. _Budd was too much of an asshole to say sorry. So I kept walking. I was in another country. I walked until I reached the U.S. Embassy. I was able to enroll in the military (despite my flat feet),and was shipped overseas. I looked forward to the combat. Anything that would make me forget Budd. _

_I knew the pain that was in store for Beatrix. Looking back, I should've listened to my gut and said something. She might've seen what was coming. _

* * *

New Orleans, Louisiana, 1994—

"How'd you know I was in New Orleans?" asked Desmond, when he learned it was Bill on the other end.

"I'm the man," said Bill. His voice was casual.

"What can I do for you, Bill?" asked Desmond.

"I have a job for you that'll pay very well," said Bill.

"I'm not on your payroll anymore," said Desmond.

"True. But this is a lucrative offer. I wanted to give you first dibs on it," said Bill.

"What about Elle?" asked Desmond sarcastically.

"Our client doesn't hold women in high regard. He prefers a man for the job," said Bill.

Desmond shrugged the statement away.

"How lucrative?" asked Desmond.

"Four hundred grand. All you have to do is escort one of our clients to Cuba," said Bill.

"Cuba, huh. What's he paying 400 grand for? Protection…murder?" asked Desmond.

"Typical bodyguard stuff. I'll be honest. You might need to spill some blood, but it shouldn't come to that," said Bill. "He's looking to close a deal with one of the head honchos. The competition is stiff, so our associate is being extra-cautious."

Desmond stayed silent.

"It's an overnight job. You escort him on his boat, then you come back. Easy payday," said Bill.

Desmond rolled the idea in his head. The military didn't pay much, so Desmond could always use the money as a nest egg. If he was caught fucking another guy, it'd be an automatic dishonorable discharge. Desmond had to be a businessman.

"I'll do it. Who am I working for?" asked Budd.

"Our client wants to keep his identity under wraps. You'll be meeting his associate Bob," said Bill.

"Where do I meet Bob, then?" asked Desmond.

There was a pause on Bill's end.

"Aren't you curious about what Budd's been up to?"

"Not particularly," Desmond responded.

"Well, I might as well break the news to you. Budd got married last year…to Arlene…you remember her?"

Desmond remembered Arlene as a pug-faced brunette with eczema. She couldn't coast on her looks, so she became an assassin instead. _Good career choice. _

He didn't let Bill's words faze him. "Where do I meet Bob?"

"Meet him at Snake and Jake's Christmas Club Lounge," said Bill, "I'll give Budd your well wishes."

Desmond hung up the phone. Then, he picked up the receiver again, and slammed it a few times against the booth.

"Hey!" yelled the motel owner. "Cut that shit out!"

Desmond did it one more time before walking off.

"Fucking asshole," muttered the owner.

Desmond stepped out into the wintry night. He had the thinnest jacket imaginable, but he didn't give a damn. Bill's news pissed off Desmond more than you could imagine, and he knew that Bill knew it. Even though Budd was surrounded by drugs, fast money, and cheap sex, being gay was the worst thing in Bill's mind. Budd was just as much of an asshole. He couldn't wait to piss all over what he and Desmond had together. He went back into the closet like a coward.

_Maybe you're the one lying to yourself, motherfucker. Budd was chasing pussy long before he met you. _If that was the case, then Desmond was the biggest assclown.

Later on, after meeting Bob at Snake's, Desmond didn't know what hit him.

_I leaned into Bob's trunk expecting to find guns. Instead, I was hit in the back of the head. _


	6. Chapter 6: Brothers Reunite

"I know we haven't spoken sometime," uttered Bill, as he leaned against a post. "And the last time we spoke wasn't the most pleasant."

"_How many times do I need to tell you not to be fucking around with that…faggot!" yelled Bill. "Are you trying to piss me off? Do you know how nasty and dirty those men are? They spread pestilence and AIDS all over the fucking place!"_

"'_Those men'? I'm one of those men," said Budd._

"_No, you're not. You've been married before, and I know you've fucked plenty of women. He just has you confused," responded Bill._

"_I'm not confused. I'm thinking the clearest I've ever had in my life," said Budd._

"_Is that so?" asked Bill. "Then, why did I just bust you out of jail for assaulting a guy?"_

"_Like you're so honorable. I know what you did, Bill, and that was pretty fucked up," said Budd. "Do you think I'll forgive you for swindling Desmond like that? How do you face yourself for what happened to him?"_

"_You're no Boy Scout yourself, little brother," responded Bill. "Look at all the shit and destruction that you've done, and you have the nerve to put the mirror in front of me?"_

"_Well you already have a big fucking mirror in front of you, big brother," said Budd. "You think your soul's saved because you're raising B.B. You made us beat a pregnant woman, and you shot her in the fucking head! B.B. barely survived no thanks to your dumbass move."_

"_That was my personal shit," said Bill._

"_Yeah, you put us on the payroll, so fuck your 'personal shit,'" said Budd. _

"_I know my personal shit had some repercussions. But you didn't have to disappear like that!" yelled Bill. "I didn't know where the fuck you were."_

"_You could've found me just like you found her. You coped out because you didn't want to deal with the guilt. Once again, someone had to step in and clean up your dirty work… Desmond found me and he's why I'm still standing. Not you!" yelled Budd._

_Bill stayed silent for a moment. "Okay, Budd. I see your mind is made up."_

_Bill drew his sword. "I'm not going to let you go down that path. Is he worth me killing you?" _

_Budd looked Bill straight in the eye. "Come on, now. You're going to slice me?" Budd stepped in closer towards his brother. "My answer is crystal clear." _

"_Fine," said Bill. "Then here's my ultimatum…and you know I'm good on what I say. You so much as contact him, and I'll kill you both myself. Starting with him."_

_Budd saw the evil in his brother's eyes. He knew that his brother wasn't joking. _

"_I'll do it so long as I never see you again," said Budd. Bill withdrew the sword._

"_Deal," said Bill. He sheathed his sword, and began walking away. _

_Budd needed to have the last word. "Let's hope for your sake brother that Beatrix never wakes up."_

In his drunken stupor, Budd soaked in the image of his brother. It had definitely been "sometime" since they'd last seen each other. Budd didn't know whether to rejoice that Bill was still alive or maintain his grudge against him regarding Desmond. He chose the latter, especially after hearing about the Hattori Hanzo sword. Budd didn't just make that Japanese grudge remark for nothing. Not to mention the "swordplay" question. Was that a double-entendre question regarding Budd's sexual activities?

"But you have to get over being mad at me," said Bill. "And start being afraid of Beatrix because she's coming to kill you. And unless you accept my assistance, I have no doubt she will succeed."

"I don't dodge guilt…and I don't Jew out of paying my comeuppance."

Bill saw something in Budd's eyes. He knew that look anywhere. When he had that look growing up, it was always because Budd was hiding something. _Desmond was back in the picture. _

"Can't we just forget the past?" asked Bill. Bill was referring to Desmond. Budd sidestepped it, and put it on him.

"That woman deserves her revenge. And…we deserve to die," said Budd. He wrestled with the thought in his head for a moment. It sounded a lot like a death wish. But it couldn't be a death wish.

He laughed off the sentiment. "But then again, who is she? So I guess we'll just see. Won't we?" Budd looked straight in Bill's eyes like he did those years ago. This time, it was switched. Budd knew in his heart that Bill truly didn't want Beatrix dead.

But wouldn't it be a sweet revenge? Take the woman that Bill loved the most from him just like Bill threatened to take the only man that Budd ever loved from him.

As Bill drove away, he knew that he had to be a man of his word. If Beatrix succeeded, Bill will hunt down Desmond and kill him. Just to balance the universe.

* * *

That night, Budd reported for work at the strip club. He didn't care that Larry had a problem with him being late again, nor that he was cutting his hours. As he plunged the clogged toilet in the men's restroom, Budd had an epiphany:

His employment was pretty much terminated, but it didn't matter.

He had a reunion with Bill, but that didn't matter.

It didn't even matter that Beatrix was after his head.

Budd had been living clean since Desmond saved him. Sure, Budd still had the occasional beer. But he was off the drugs, and more importantly, mended his anger issues. Years earlier, Budd would've kicked the shit out of his boss. But it was time for a permanent change. It was a little more than a month that Budd communicated again with Desmond, and he wasn't going to fuck it up this time.

* * *

Budd knew that Beatrix would take the honorable way of assassination. So, he knew she wasn't expecting the rock salt bullets.

Before he took her to be buried alive, Budd made a phone call to Elle. He made her an offer she couldn't refuse: Beatrix's Hattori Hanzo sword. It would have a different connotation than the engraved sword that Bill had given Budd. Budd knew that that sword was a parting gift of sorts. If Budd stepped out of line, Bill had his epitaph engraved for him.

He demanded $1,000,000 from Elle for the sword. It would be enough for a new start.

But Budd had another ulterior motive for the phone call. He knew that Elle wouldn't hesitate to deliver the news of Beatrix's capture to Bill. And if Bill knew that Budd was taking care of the Beatrix problem, he might let Desmond and him go unscathed.

Little did Budd know that Elle would be bringing along a Black Mamba to finish him off. And that snake was a personal touch from Bill. There was no way in hell that Bill would let his little brother disobey him.

Yet, Budd himself was not without his tricks. When Budd buried Beatrix alive, he made sure to equip her with a flashlight. He kept the restraints loose so that that she could grab hold of her boots. He remembered Desmond's words too clear: "Don't fuck with Beatrix. She keeps a fucking blade in her footwear." If Beatrix should survive, Budd would make sure to flee the country once he got his money.

Perhaps, ironically, the Black Mamba got him in the end after all.


End file.
